Lady In Blue
by Regann
Summary: COMPLETE. Squall finds himself in the midst of familiar people and vaguely recognizable places, but feels as if he's forgotten to do something important. How does it relate to the legend of a long-dead princess? Time & Space are strange, indeed.
1. part I

The Lady in Blue, By Regann   
  


All of a sudden, Squall could not remember what he'd been doing. It was all blank, the thoughts from a second before gone and forgotten. He felt as if he'd been doing something important, dreadfully important, but everything up to that point was lost, like he'd just awoke from a long deep sleep. He shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs and fuzziness. 

"Hello? Earth to Squall!" 

"Ya there, buddy?" 

Squall looked up from his clenched hands to see two pairs of concerned eyes fixed upon him from across the round café table. One pair--blue--belonged to an attractive young woman with long honey-colored loosely pinned back, her long bangs loose around her face. The other were shielded by the brim of a black cowboy hat, the man's lean face shaded from the cheerful sun which beat down on the uncovered patio of the tiny restaurant. Squall shook his head again, absently running his fingers through his light brown hair. "You in there?" the young woman asked again, her concern apparent. 

Squall waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that, Christy. What were you saying?" 

Christina Trepe arched a pale brow in response. "Well, I _was_ discussing the finer points of art classification and restoration," she said wryly, taking a sip of her tea, "but obviously I'm boring you." 

"Don't be so hard on the guy, Christy," chided Irvine Kinneas, flashing his fiancee a devilish smile. "He did fly across the Atlantic just to see you; that should at least spare him the monotony of one of your lectures." 

"No! I'm sorry," Squall hastened to apologize to his long-time friend. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I just...drifted off." 

"Perhaps, it's the scenery," Irvine suggested, making a sweeping gesture toward the cloudless blue sky and gently rolling hills of vineyards which were interrupted ever so often by the vivid colors of a flower field. 

_Flower fields._"Perhaps." 

Christina smiled at her friend, all minor irritation gone. "It is gorgeous, isn't it? We've been so lucky to spend the last month in this lovely countryside--even though I've spent most of it buried inside the Manor." 

"The Manor?" Squall was still fuzzy. What was she talking about? 

Both pairs of eyes were once again concerned. "The Manor," Christina repeated slowly. "The old castle which I was hired to help catalogue for a local historical society? The reason I'm here, in France, in this tiny little town of Coeurtille..." 

"Oh yeah." He remembered now--vaguely. His childhood friend, Christina Trepe, a professor in art history, had come to France to help restore some really old paintings. After a call to his older sister, Elinor, she'd tracked him down and invited him to spend a week with her and her newly acquired fiancé, the cowboy, Irvine Kinneas. It was all coming back...somewhat. Yet, he still couldn't shake the feeling he was supposed to be doing something else, something drastically important. 

"Damn, buddy," Irvine shook his head, causing his long chestnut ponytail to slither down the front of his faded T-shirt. "You really are out of it." 

"Sorry," Squall mumbled, slightly abashed. 

Christina's quiet smile took on a teasing quality. "Let's recap: I'm Christina; this is Irvine. Your name is Squall...you with me so far?" 

Squall rolled his eyes. "Whatever." 

She couldn't help but laugh. "Same old Squall, all right." 

"Thank you Professor Trepe," he retorted. "I'm sorry, okay?" 

Irvine unceremoniously threw his linen napkin at his immaculately dressed fiancee. "Lay off, darlin'. No wonder y'all lost touch. He was probably glad to get away from your nagging." 

She shot him a look, then returned the favor before turning her attention back to Squall. "It's probably just jet-lag," she told him knowledgeably. "Are you sure you want to come to work with us today? You could always go back to the house and rest." 

Squall shook his head. "No, I'm fine. I want to go. This old place sounds...fascinating." 

"Alright then," Irvine announced, lowering his heavy cowboy boots from the chair they'd been occupying to the ground, and brushing off his faded jeans as he stood. "Let's head out." 

Squall followed suit as Christina excused herself to go pay the bill. "Is it far?" he asked Irvine. 

He shrugged. "About three miles outside the village. Don't worry." He held up his car keys. "We gotta car." 

"So...uh...what do you do when you're not in France with Christy?" Squall inquired, trying to get to know this guy better, for Christy's sake. He seemed like a nice guy. 

"Cattle," Irvine admitted. "My family runs a cattle ranch." 

"Hence the outfit," Squall surmised. 

Irvine chuckled, giving himself a look-over, from the top of his Stetson over his long hair, to the heels of his boots, the old T-shirt and worn jeans in between. "I told Christy that I'd give up my ranch, my country and even my language for her, but, by God, I ain't givin' up the hat." 

"No matter how ugly the damned thing is," Christina smirked as she reappeared. "Come on, you. Let's go." 

*****

  


Squall watched the green fields fly by as the three of them drove across the narrow country roads in the tiny domestically-manufactured car which his guests had rented for their stay in France. The view was breathtakingly, the emerald background dappled with the reds and yellows of wild flowers. _Flower fields..._ The haze was finally clearing in his brain, but still doubts nagged him. He ran everything through his mind as they traveled. His sister, Elle, had called and given him Christy's number; he recalled making the arrangements dimly. And Christy? Of course, he remembered her from when he was a kid. Short, tomboyish and bossy, she had been the terror of the boys in school--until she reached high school when she changed into the extremely beautiful and elegant woman she was now. Meeting Irvine? Yeah, he recollected that little episode, too. He'd been lounging out in he and Christy's front yard when he'd arrived from the airport, his hat drawn over his eyes as golden butterflies danced around on the breeze. 

When the car came to a screeching halt, Squall was yanked from his reverie. "What the hell?" he muttered, glancing through the front windshield, then glaring at the driver with his slate-colored eyes. 

"Sorry about that," Irvine apologized breezily. "But this is a sheep crossin,' ya see." Squall _did_ see as he watched an old herder expertly steered his flock over the tiny road, raising his hat to Irvine in appreciation for his patience. Finally, he was finished and paused to whistle for his dog to follow. A medium-sized dog with thick dark fur happily trotted after its master, but Squall no longer saw the dog headed toward the old man, but a young dark-haired woman. He blinked and she was gone, once again an old man with pipe clamped tightly in his mouth. He waved another sign of gratitude with his cane before disappearing with his flock over the green hill. 

"Squall? I know I'm beginning to sound like a broken record, but are you all right?" Christina was waving her hand in front of his glazed blue-gray eyes. "You like you saw a ghost or something." The motion caused them to focus on the glittering stone of the ring which was worn on the perfectly manicured hand. "Trying to show off your ring?" he asked dryly, trying to draw attention away from his latest lapse with reality. 

"Wouldn't be impossible to see a ghost," muttered Irvine. "That manor is one damned spooky place." 

"Really, Irvine, not this again," Christina rolled her eyes at both of her companions. 

Squall furrowed his brow. "Did I miss something again?" 

Christina made a very unladylike sound. "Irvine here is convinced that the castle is haunted. Really, all this talk about ghosts and such is terribly boring." 

"Don't you start, Christy," Irvine warned. "You said so, yourself. It was built by an evil witch who sold her soul to the Devil, and she offered human sacrifices to him for Black Mass. Can't get much more evil." 

Something about the word 'witch' intrigued Squall. "Is that the truth?" he wanted to know. 

"According to local legend," Christina clarified. "An evil sorceress from a great distant land--some even say the future--went in league with the Devil and sold her soul for the chance to reign supreme in the world. She was said to start her reign of terror here, just outside of Coeurtille." 

"See?" Irvine interjected, catching Squall's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Evil spirits." 

"In actuality," Christina continued, shooting Irvine a dark look. "The palace was first inhabited by very horrible woman, a Comtesse de Ultimont. She was very cruel to the peasants and the countryside lived in fear of her. But I doubt she'd sold her soul, Irvine. She was simply money-hungry, and uncaring." 

"Believe what you will, Christy," Irvine shrugged. "But none of the locals will come near this place, which is why you and Steffie got the job." 

"Who's Steffie?" Squall wondered aloud. 

"She's my assistant, a grad student from the college. Hold on to your seat, Squall," Christina went on to say. "This bridge is an...adventure." 

Squall understood exactly what Christina meant by 'adventure' as Irvine barreled the car over a rickety wooden bridge which didn't look strong enough to support them on foot, let alone them in car. He couldn't suppress a sigh of relief when they were safely on the other side. 

"Did that bridge scare you, Squall?" Christina joked. "Or was it Irvine's ghosts?" 

"Whatever." Both Squall and Christina said at the same time, which caused the woman to burst into laughter as her friend glared at her. "Oh, stop looking so mean," she chided him laughingly. "We're here." 

Squall gratefully scrambled out of the tiny back-seat of the small French car, thankful for a chance to stretch his limber frame too long cramped in riding. A light breeze tugged at his hair and leather jacket, causing him to irritatingly brush back his long bangs. When he turned away from the cheery landscape to see the 'Manor,' he gasped in surprise at what he saw. Even with Irvine's spooky stories about ghosts and witches, Squall had expected the usual French-model chateau of the early Renaissance, or the somber square of a medieval fortress. What he hadn't expected was a mammoth of dark gray stone, a huge complex of wings and towers, turrets spiraling up into the clear blue sky. Huge, horrible rock gargoyles were perched all around its exterior, and a gilded clock face was carved into one of the high rocks. A flash of bright color caught his eye: did he really see a long line of pale on the uppermost walkway? 

"Spooky, ain't it?" Irvine smirked. 

"It is foreboding," Squall slowly agreed, eyeing the castle with apprehension. It truly resembled something out of an old horror film. 

"Men are such babies," Christina complained, bravely marching up the stone steps to the oversized iron-studded door. She looked over her shoulder, eyeing the reluctant males. "Well, come on, then." 

Squall obediently followed his friend into the castle, silently relieved when they weren't immediately attacked by some foul ghoul upon entrance. The entrance hall was also intimidating, pillars holding up the towering ceiling, closed doors leading off to other rooms. "Ya know," Irvine whispered conspiratorially to Squall. "The locals call this place 'La palais d'Enfer.' Fitting, huh?" 

"What does that mean?" 

"The palace of Hell," Irvine answered. 

"Nice," Squall shook his head. He glanced around uneasily, experiencing a terrible sense of deja vu, followed by the nagging doubt that he was supposed to be doing something else. He tried to ignore it, but it gnawed at him. _Flowers..._

"But Zell!" The high-pitched feminine squeal caused both men to jump, startling them. 

"What was that?" demanded Squall. 

Christina, who had been calmly sorting through a pile of mail left on one of the side-boards, shrugged. "That was Steffie. Come on. I'll show you our offices." 

They were led to a room that was slightly less frightening, it's ceiling-high windows bare and opened to the sunny fields, the golden light tempering the gloom, but making it even more surreal. One hip perched on the burnished mahogany desk was a petite young woman, her brown hair in a tousled bob. She was busy filing her nails, while she held a phone receiver between her shoulder and ear. "But, honey," she was whining into phone. "I'm sure you'll do better next time. C'mon, don't give up like that." 

"I take it that's a personal call," quipped Christina to Steffie as she passed her to sit behind the desk. Steffie stuck her tongue out at Christy before saying, "Honey? I gotta go. Professor Trepe is here. Yeah, I'll tell her. Bye, honey." 

"So, how is Zell?" Irvine teased, dropping into one of the over-stuffed chairs, motioning for Squall to do the same. 

"He's fine," Steffie answered, rolling her eyes as she hopped off the desk. "He didn't do well at the competition this week, and he's thinking about quitting all together and joinin' the Marines." 

"Again," Irvine added with a smile. 

"Shut your damn mouth, Kinneas," Steffie ordered. 

Christina chose this as the proper time to interrupt. "Squall, this is Steffie Tilmitt, my assistant." Squall stood and murmured hello. "Steffie, this is my long-time friend, Squall Loire." 

"Nice to meet you," she said brightly. 

_Squall Loire_? For some reason, even though he knew that that was indeed his name, it didn't set right on his tongue, landing uneasily upon his ears. 

"Steffie, I have to go over these accounts, so would you mind showing Squall around for me?" Christina asked smoothly, glancing over the rim of her reading glasses. "Please?" 

"No problem, Christy," she fairly bounced with excess energy. Tugging on her bright-yellow miniskirt, she beckoned to Squall. "C'mon. I'll give you the grand tour." 

"Watch out for the Lady in Blue," Squall heard Irvine call out as they left. 

"You're not going to show me everything, are you?" Squall wanted to know as he followed the petite woman as she wove in and out of corridors and rooms. 

"Nooooo," she laughed. "This place is way too huge for that. It's got like, five or six accessible stories, half-dozen wings, a dozen towers, a central courtyard, dungeons...this thing even has a chapel in it! I'm just going to show you the rooms where we've been working." 

"So, this Zell is your boyfriend, right?" 

A satisfied smile crept over Steffie's delicate features. "He sure is." 

"Why didn't he come with you like Irvine did Christy?" 

"He couldn't take time away from his career," she explained breezily. "You see, he's a professional skater." 

"Skater?" Squall arched a brow. 

"Uh huh," Steffie paused and whipped out a picture from her tiny purse. "This is us in LA, right before I flew out." 

Squall examined the picture to see a stocky, muscular young man with spiky-blond hair and a trailing tattoo covering half his face. "Isn't he cute?" she purred, then giggled. "You don't have to answer that." 

"I'm grateful for that." Squall remembered what Irvine had said as he'd exited. "Steffie? Who exactly is the lady in Blue?" 

"Oh." Steffie pulled hard in a double door to make it open, revealing a large two-level study-type room. She ushered Squall inside. "She's one of the resident ghosts of the place. In fact, she's the most famous." 

"So you believe in Irvine's ghosts." It wasn't a question. 

Steffie shrugged, her green eyes trained on Squall. "Oh, course I do. I could feel the negative vibes of this place as soon as we got here. I'd find it harder to believe that it wasn't haunted." 

Steffie, now standing in the middle of the room, made a wide, spinning gesture. "Welcome to the art room," she announced. "Or, at least, that's what we call it. There's roughly twenty paintings in here, not counting that." She pointed to her feet where large gilded Roman numerals were painted. "It's a clock, on the floor." 

Throughout the room were hung gilded frame paintings, all with tiny plaques inscribed with there name underneath it. Yet, one unnamed painting commanded a whole wall, it's soothing colors overshadowing the rest. Squall looked around, the deja vu hitting him again. "There's Venus," Steffie pointed, jumping and spinning accordingly. "And Ignus, and my personal favorite, Xerampelinae. That means "Red Clothes" in Latin." 

"Yes, I know. I took Latin in college." Squall found himself staring at the dark-haired woman dressed in the regal red clothing. She looked...familiar, as if he'd seen her before. Maybe the painting had been in a book or something. 

"All these paintings' names are in Latin," Steffie went on. "But my very very favorite is the portrait of the Lady in Blue." Steffie stood at the base of the stairs, calling up to Squall. "You wanna hear about her still?" 

Squall, still staring intently at each of the paintings, nodded absently. "Why not." 

"According to the legend of the evil Comtesse d'Ultimont, there was a beautiful young princess whose family ruled her before her." Steffie's voice took on the tone of someone telling a fairy-tale. She draped herself across a purple-velvet chaise lounge which she had dragged there from another chamber. "Don't all of these stories have a beautiful princess in them? They never say, "an okay-looking princess" or "a butt-ugly daughter of the king," now do they?" 

"Steffie--" 

"Yeah, sorry. I tend to ramble. Anyways, this princess's name was Rione de Coeurtille and the Comtesse hated her. Wanted her dead. The story never says why. Maybe because she was young and beautiful and loved, and the Comtesse was twisted by evil into something haggard and terrifying. Ya know, the religious fanatics have some crazy thing about Rione being an agent of God, sent to destroy the Comtesse for being evil. I dunno. Anyways, Rione decided to face the Comtesse and try to save her people and her land. But she wasn't alone 'cause there was this knight, who loved her, who was supposed to help her. But the Comtesse struck first and kidnapped the princess." 

"So,what happened?" 

Steffie sniffed. "It gets sad here 'cause the princess was in despair, but her knight promised to come after her, and save her from the evil sorceress. And she promised to wait for him. Unfortunately, Rione de Coeurtille died in the dungeon before her knight arrived." Steffie's voice dropped low and husky, as if she were discussing a personal tragedy instead of a medieval legend. "He came eventually and defeated the sorceress, but Rione's soul could not rest and the villagers say that her spirit still haunts this castle, waiting for her knight to come. She became known as the Lady in Blue because she's always seen wearing a long blue gown and cloak." 

"How utterly depressing," Squall remarked as he climbed down the stairs. 

"I don't know," Steffie said dreamily. "I think it's kinda romantic. Very Romeo and Juliet, ya know." 

"So the unnamed knight defeated the evil sorceress and nobody lived happily ever after," Squall mused, his slate-colored eyes transfixed by the commanding unnamed painting. "No wonder it's not up there with Sleeping Beauty and Snow White." 

"Oops!" Steffie, who'd still been lounging, rolled over with a start. "I knew I forget something. The guy's name." 

"So he wasn't nameless," Squall laughed sardonically. "Lucky him." 

"What was it?" Steffie tried to remember. "It was something...French. And long. It was--" 

"It wasn't his name," Christina contradicted as she entered. "It was his title. He was 'La Coeur d'un lion.' The Lion-hearted." 

"You mean like, the English king?" Steffie thought to ask. 

"Yes, like the English king, but _not_ the English king," Christina said, laughing. "So, Squall, did you enjoy the tour?" 

"It was great." 

Steffie, turning over again, studied Squall for a moment. "You're not very talkative, are you? 'A man of few words.'" 

"That's Squall," Christina agreed, as she studied the over-large painting. "I can tell you from years of experience that we're lucky he says as much as he does." She checked her watch. "Listen, we're going to head out early, Steffie, so we can treat Squall to the nonexistent night-life of Coeurtille. You can leave now if you want." 

"Thank goodness!" Steffie hopped to her feet, still tugging on the hem of her miniskirt. "Last time you guys left me here early, I saw _her_ on that walkway up there." 

Christina sighed. "Really, Steffie." 

"Yes, really!" The exuberant woman was now hopping from one feet to the other. "I saw Rione on that walkway at the very top of the castle, the one nobody has figured out how to get to. She was in a long pale-blue dress and she was just...walking back and forth. I. Swear. To. God. Christy!" 

Squall and Christina exchanged doubtful looks over Steffie's head. "Whatever you say, dear. Whatever you say." 

***** 

  
  


The next morning, Squall awoke from a troubling dream, almost a nightmare. In his dream, he was stumbling through a darkened castle filled with dark dangerous things which clung to shadows. In one gloved hand, he'd grasped a weapon, its translucent-blue blade eerie in the failing light. He never seemed to reach to his destination, but he continued on, being pulled by a mysterious voice whose words he didn't actually understand but he knew cried out for his help . . . 

"Hey, what you doing up so early?" Christina's sleep-swollen eyes blinked as she entered the small kitchen in her _pension_ to find Squall, fully dressed and awake, sipping a cup of coffee as he thought. She ran a hand though her sleep-tousled curls to tame them. 

"Something just . . . called to me this morning," Squall told her, smiling at his private joke. 

Christina pulled her robe belt tighter as she leaned forward to look out the window. "This place is really beautiful. Almost, well, magical. I bet it's double that for you, this being your ancestral home and all." 

Squall gave her a questioning look. 

"Well, 'loire' is French," she told him. "This is probably your dad's family's origins."   
Squall shrugged. "I really don't feel some kind of family tie to the land, if that's what you mean, but," he looked out of the window as the sun rose against the outline of the flower-capped fields. "It does have its appeal." 

"Well, why don't you go relax in the living room while I cook us up some breakfast? Irvine should be rising from the dead any minute now. You can cut through my work room." 

"Okay." Squall refilled his coffee cup and headed toward Christina and Irvine's living room. As he passed through the sunny work room where Christy did most of her delicate restoration, he noticed the painting which sat on the easel, half-covered by a tarp. He felt drawn to the painting and hesitantly pushed away the cover to see it. It was a portrait of a young woman, barely out of her teenage years, with long black hair that fell around her in a cloud as she sat stiffly in a high-backed chair. Her dark-fringed eyes the color of a star-less night sky to explode from the canvas, even through the layers of dirt. It was the only detail which was clear, the rest viewed through a gray mist of age and ruin. Suddenly, the face was familiar as if portrait had lifted a veil in his mind, Squall could see the girl in his mind's eyes, the one whose voice called to him in dreams. 

"Hey, Squall, you're . . ." Irvine trailed off as he saw the intense gaze his friend had on the painting. "Everything okay?" 

"Oh, yeah," Squall shook himself and turned away from the painting. "It's just that . . . well, this picture must've made an impression on me because this girl was in my dream last night. Strange, huh?" 

Irvine furrowed his brow. "Yeah, especially since you didn't even come in here last night." 

Squall thought for a moment, remembering that his host was correct. "Well, maybe I saw it somewhere else in the house, because I did dream about her last night. Who is she, anyway?" 

Irvine saw the confused look on his friend's face and decided not to mention that the painting was the only one of its kind--anywhere. "That's the legendary Rione de Coeurtille." 

Squall looked at the portrait again, and something tugged deep at him, but was gone too quick for him to grasp it. "The Lady in Blue." 

" 'She was like an angel, fair and pure of heart; she tried to save the world, but only lost her life.' " Christina's spontaneous recitation startled both men. When they looked at her with blank stares, she added, "That's the description of Rione I found in my research." 

Squall turned back to the picture. "Who painted it?" 

Christina shrugged. "That's the problem with half of these paintings. No artist, no clue to who might have painted them. But they are gorgeous. I can't wait to get this one cleaned up. I can just sense how great it is." 

Squall continued to stare at the heavenly face of the portrait. "Yeah, gorgeous."   



	2. part II

That interlude spoiled the morning for the trio. Squall was abnormally quiet, trapped in his nagging doubts and vague feelings of inactivity. That afternoon the group were traveling to a nearby village to visit the weekly fair. On the long car trip, the unexplainable tension from breakfast began to ease. "It's a great place," Christina said excitedly. "It has everything you can think of...I'm sure you'll be able to find gifts for Elle and your parents there. They even have a gypsy fortune-teller." 

"Gypsy?" Squall had regained some of his good humor. 

"They're not actually gypsies," Irvine revealed. "Even though Christy likes to believe they are. They're a local family who used to be in the carnival business who pretends to be gypsies to get money from the gullible tourists." 

"You just say that because you're too superstitious to go near them," his fiancee retorted. She turned to Squall. "He is so superstitious that he goes crazy over black cats, ladders, spilled salt. You should have seen him when those locals told us that we'd be cursed if we went to the castle. You'd have thought that I was trying to make a pact with Satan from the way he acted--I was simply trying to go to work." 

"Christy, that stuff is both powerful and ancient. You don't know what it could do. And I'd rather not find out by accident. But, that has nothing to do with the fact that you're so damned gullible." 

The remainder of the trip was accompanied the couple's good-natured bickering. When they finally reached the fair, their silent guest had almost freed himself from his inner turmoil, at least long enough to enjoy the day. He was impressed with the rural market, which did seem to have an extensive collection. Squall, Christina, and Irvine threaded through the lines and stalls, sometimes stopping to look and sometimes just passing without a second glance the merchandise laid out on the tables. Squall trudged patiently as Christina and Irvine bought vegetables and fruits for dinner, and they faithfully gave advice on his selection for gifts for his family. All the while, Squall struggled to keep the clouds of depression that had fell over him after seeing that portrait that morning at bay. 

Just after lunch, they saw a tiny dark-red tent sat off to the side of the fruit stalls. In front of the tent sat a tall willowy woman with long black hair, wearing a full purple skirt and a gold earring in her ear. Christina rushed to embrace the older yet beautiful woman. "Edea!" she said in greeting after the embrace. 

"It is good to see you, my dear girl," Edea returned in her soft melodic voice. 

Christina pulled her gypsy friend toward the waiting men. "Edea, this is my good friend, Squall Loire. Squall, this is Edea Krameri." 

"Please to meet you," Squall offered politely. Edea was staring at him intently with her unusual amber-colored eyes. 

"Come," she said softly. "I shall read your fortune for you for free, since you are Christy's old friend." 

Squall hesitated. "I don't know..." 

"Go on," Irvine laughed. "It'll be fun." 

Squall did as the old woman bid, and stepped into the tent. Inside was the typical set-up of a gypsy fortune teller, complete with a drab velvet table cloth under the gleaming crystal ball. Squall sat down across from Edea, and looked straight into her eyes. "I don't believe in this stuff." 

Edea shrugged good-naturedly. "There are a few who come to me who are not believers...until afterwards. Give me your hand." 

Squall did so and suddenly felt chills up his spine. He watched as Edea looked into her crystal ball and then back to him again before closing her eyes. She murmured a moment before her eyes lids flew open and snatched her hand away. "You do not belong here," she croaked, a look of fear on her face. 

He was taken aback. "But you said I was to come in," he reminded her. 

She shook her head emphatically. "That's not what I meant!" She took his hand again. "This is not your world, young man. You are lost, pulled into this place by demons, hell-bent on destroying you as you did them!" 

_Don't fall into a time warp!_

"What?" he faltered, incredulous. 

"Do not let them," she told him sternly. "Find her---and save yourself." 

_I promise_

With that, she swept out the tent, making a hasty excuse to Christina and Irvine as she hurried past. 

"What happened in there?" asked Irvine Squall emerged a second later, his face paler than usual. 

"Nothing. Just usual gypsy stuff." 

Christina and Irvine stared, speechless, as their friend strode past them toward the rented car. 

***** 

  


Squall knew that something weird was happening with him but the truth of the situation eluded him. He thought about what Edea had said, the fear she'd felt, and how he'd felt the truth of her words inside himself, ever since he'd arrived in France. _You do not belong here_. He knew that it was more than a carnival fortune-telling but he had no words to describe what was happening. He had felt. . . different since he'd gotten there, as if he were shirking his duty for an important labor. He couldn't explain it to himself, let alone to his friends. Edea's words kept ringing in his ears. _Find her...and save yourself_. 

That night, the dream returned, stronger, longer and much more realistic. He rationalized that it was the stress and activity of the market that brought it on. Or maybe Christina's coq au vin. This time, as he ran through the darkened halls, he knew he was searching for someone, not something. The owner of the voice whose cry for help urged him on. His senses seem much more keen on this night of the dream. His surroundings were much sharper, the shadows of danger, the cold stone walls, all washed in silver moonlight streaking through the eerie vaulted windows. He could smell all the light odor of wood and oil, the dampness of the stone. And his ears seemed to magnify the voice that called to him, the soft voice frantic with unshed tears and terror. His dream-self could picture her in his mind's eye: the long dark hair framing the pale face, its lovely features twisted by fear, those dark dark eyes a beacon in the nothingness as he continued to follow her call. _Please_, she seemed to scream to him, _Come for me. You promised to meet me. I'm waiting_. 

Squall awoke drenched in sweat, and panting for the breath that had escaped him in his dream. He was shaking as he scrambled out of his bed to look out the small window that overlooked the town from a gentle hill north of town. In the pre-dawn light, when the whole world seemed to cast in a rose-lilac glow, the castle in the distance seemed to shine the brightest, like a beacon, like the eyes from the dream. The light was a halo around it, highlighting it as the answer, the key, to all that haunted Squall, to all that had haunted him all his life. He pulled the curtains back over the windows and sank back to the bed. 

***** 

  


"The weather is usually so...nice," Christy amended the next afternoon, sitting at her easel, now transported back to the castle. As if to contradict her point, a loud crash of thunder rumbled, jarring them. "As I said, it is usually so nice, but it seems we're in for a freak thunder storm." 

Squall, staring intently at the huge nameless painting which commanded one wall of the study, shrugged. "I guess the farmers prefer it to no rain." 

Christina nodded absently, brushing back a strand of her honey hair which had escaped the serviceable ponytail. Unlike her usual sleek ensembles, today she was dressed in old blue jeans and tank top under an over-sized men's shirt which was doubling as a smock. With her glasses perched on the bridge of her straight nose, she was carefully and expertly removing the layers of dirt from the "Lady in Blue" portrait of Rione de Coeurtille. It was times such as these when Squall truly admired her calm hand and sharp eyes. With a stroke of a thin-bristled brush, Christina was able to return the painting's true beauty. "Okay," she sighed in satisfaction, rising from her wooden bench. "Come look, Squall. What do you think?" 

_That I've found her_. Rione's portrait was now restored to its former glory, the complete face and shoulders clearly visible as the eyes had been the day before. Squall drank in every detail of the exquisite piece of art. He noted the thin streaks of gold which threaded through her dark mane, framing the face, and the way the half-smile seemed on the verge of laughter. The painting's name had been earned from the fact she wore an embroidered gown of pale blue velvet, its texture artfully displayed against the cool pale-metal of her unusual ornamentation, two silver rings hung from a silver chain. Even the eyes seemed more alive, and Squall could swear he saw his own blue-gray irises reflected back from the black pools. 

"Should I interpret your silence as a good thing?" His in-the-flesh companion asked archly, watching him as he regarded her handiwork. 

Tearing his eyes away from the canvas, he focused on Christina who stood next to him. For some reason, Squall began to feel as if she were the one who was unreal, the one he was viewing from some ancient tableau. But that was ridiculous...wasn't it? 

"It's great," he complimented. "Very--life-like." 

"Isn't it," Christina agreed, wiping her hands on the tail of her make-shift smock. "Of course, I can only take credit for the fact that it can be seen, not the portrait itself. She's lovely, though." 

Another crash of thunder broke into their conversation, much heavier and closer. Christina rolled her eyes. "I bet you it's pouring outside! And I bet that that idiotic fiancé of mine forgot to bring the laundry in off the clothesline." 

Squall smirked. "What do you see in that guy anyway? I mean, he's nice and all, but--" 

Christina let out a nervous chuckle. "I have no idea, myself. He infuriates me most of the time and he's an incorrigible flirt, but..." She smiled softly, a dreamy smile reserved for people in love. "I couldn't imagine not seeing him tomorrow or the next day, or next year or...well, you get the picture." 

"I do." Squall unwillingly glanced at the dead princess, then up at the unnamed painting. Something about it had suddenly struck him as odd. The way the joints of the wood on that wall fit together didn't seem right. "Hey, Christy, what do you think of this?" He stepped over to the corner and ran his finger down the seam. It was wider than most--just by a breath--but he could discern the slightest cold breeze. 

Christina stepped over, cocking her head to one side as she knelt to examine the lower part of the seam. "There's cold air coming from the seam," she stated in concordance to Squall's opinion. 

"Exactly." He grabbed the putty knife from Christina's art supplies and jammed it into the tiny crevice. Christina squawked in surprise and disagreement until she saw Squall triumphantly swing open the whole wall, revealing a secret passage. The squawk melted into a chortle of shock. 

A dark stairwell of cold stones wound up in a spiral as far as they could see. "Holy sh...," muttered Christina. "How on earth did you know that was going to happen?" 

Squall wasn't sure himself. "I just...did," he admitted. 

The professor's big blue eyes were gleaming with the prospect of exploration, her adventurer's soul overruling all of her common sense. "You wanna explore it?" He stood, transfixed, breathless, at the edge of the opening, peering into the darkness. He felt a small tug as if pulled by invisible string to go deeper, deeper, into the unknown of the passage. He knew that his something dreadfully important was somehow waiting at the top. Finally, Squall nodded slowly. "Let's go." 

"Wait a minute!" Christina grabbed hold of her friend's arm to stop his impulsive descent into the passage. "We need to get some kind of light source," she reminded him. "Or else we'll fall and break our necks." 

"Oh, yeah." A quick search of the gloomy study turned up a few candles and Christina's tiny portable flashlight. "Now, let's go." 

Huddled close together, Christina and Squall cautiously wound up the spiraling stairs. Christina kept glancing around suspiciously, secreting fearing what lurked in the shadows. The long spiral curled around on top of itself, and the illusion of virtually no return-path startled the young professor when she dared a glance. The height was also frightening. She held tighter to Squall's arm, muttering at him to slow his rapid steps. 

"This isn't a race, you know," she grumbled quietly. 

To him, it was something far more important. When the spiral came to an end, they found themselves in a small round turret, bare except for a heavy wooden door. Bravely, Squall pushed through the door, despite Christina's yelp of disapproval as he plunged headfirst into the unknown. Christina quickly followed. 

The young professor exhaled sharply as she was assaulted by frigid drops of water and howling winds the moment she stepped through the heavy door. It banged shut loudly behind her, tormented into action by the same gusts which tore at her messily arranged hair and oversized smock. Christina squinted against the dark and the wind to see clearly where she had found herself. A long narrow walkway of stone lay before her, another turret at its end. Tall sides surrounded the walkway, on which she leaned to stay upright. When she unintentionally glanced down over the high sides, she gasped again. "We're on the walkway," she whispered into the wind. "The closed-off section where they always see--her!" Christina had to blink a few times to convince herself that she hadn't seen the ghostly princess a stride away, her long black hair billowing in the breeze. 

"Squuuaaalllll!" she screamed against the wind, struggling to cover the length of the walkway, searching for her missing friend. Where had he gone to? The only place she could figure was the other turret, so on she headed down the path, fighting the wind and rain. 

Hearing his name wailed in worry, Squall paused on his hurtling trek to the second turret and turned to see Christina fighting valiantly against the storm which was battering the countryside. He raced back to meet her half-way down the way, holding out his hands for her. She smiled gratefully and grabbed tightly to one arm for support. "Next time I want to go exploring," she shouted at him. "Tell me no!" 

Squall gestured to the door. "We might as well, now that we're here," he told her. She nodded. After a mad dash, huddled together, the friends were under the fragile of the turret's overhang as Squall pushed against the aged door to force it open. It flew open with a resounding thud as it made contact with the stone wall, the young man tumbling to the floor with the loss of support. 

"Are you all right?" Christina questioned, flicking on her tiny hand-held flashlight since the rain had made the candles useless. 

"Yeah," he assured her, rising back to his feet. He brushed the dust off himself, glancing around. "No much here, huh?" 

Christina nodded. "It is sparse." The room was almost empty compared to its size, only an old throne-like chair sat upon a dais and an old, old mirror whose surface was coated in grime. Both were gilded, but made dark by years of neglect, locked away in the high tower of Ultimont's castle. Squall couldn't stop the rush of sadness which swept over him. He had been so sure that whatever had been haunting him was somehow connected with this lost room, and that by finding it, he would find her...whoever 'she' was who would save him. 

Shivering in her soaked clothing, Christina gaped at the once-magnificent room, a room fit for a queen. Briefly, she wondered why that such a room--obviously meant for holding court--was perched so high, its entrance hidden behind a huge wall. Her flashlight's beam bounced off the dusty walls which had once been clean and vibrant, their paints fading to somber grays and browns with age. Suddenly feeling very afraid, Christina pivoted to search for Squall. He was kneeling a breath away from throne, a look of puzzlement on his face. "Squall?" 

He hadn't heard his long-time friend, nor had he registered her since he'd seen the shiny object calling to him from the blackened floor. Now, in his cold hands, he held a heavy silver pendant which had been shaped into the curious emblem of a roaring lion. Like a hot brand, the heat of the cool metal seared his palms, yet he held tighter to the trinket as he straightened. When Christina turned, her flashlight beam glanced off the mirror and onto the pendant, accidentally drawing Squall's attention to the old looking-glass. From the pendant to the mirror trailed his eyes as he stepped closer to it. Without thinking, the young man suspended the heavy pendant around his neck, the silver chain burning through his damp clothes. Stormy eyes caught their own reflection in the dark mirror, and the shadows around him melded into something else as he saw himself somewhere far away, in a stone-ridden field, in the bleakness of pre-dawn, battling. Both pairs of eyes widened as the sneering blond warrior, his opponent, made an arc with his sleek weapon, slicing into Squall's tender flesh. He gasped, sucking for air as the phantom images still danced through his mind and his hand flew to his unmarred forehead. 

"Squall!" The edge of panic in Christina's voice was enough to break the tether between him and the mysterious mind-images. Hand still to forehead, he looked away from his simple reflection to the woman at his side. He slowly lowered his hand as he turned, Christina's eyes widening in shock. "What the hell happened to you?" she wanted to know. 

"What do you..." He left his question unfinished when he caught sight of his self in the aged mirror. As the images had bespoke, a long diagonal slash scarred his forehead, still slightly red and tender-looking. His hands were speckled with blood. 

"What did you see!?" Squall asked fervently, harshly grabbing Christina by the arms, shaking her as he demanded an answer. "Tell me! What did you just see?" 

"I saw you," she said worriedly. "Just you, kneeling, then you straightened and look at the mirror. I called out to you and when you didn't answer I came over. That's all. What's wrong with you? Stop that!" She wrenched from his hold, shaking furiously. "What is it?" 

For a brief moment, Squall thought about telling her everything: about the dreams, about Rione's ghost and about the crazy things he'd just seen. But he didn't. Instead, he reached out to her as he'd never done before in the whole course of their friendship. He clasped her hand tightly in the need for comfort. "Help me, Christy," he whispered, using his free hand to touch her flushed cheek to make certain she still existed. "I think I'm going insane."   


***** 

  



	3. part III

Christina Trepe was more afraid at that moment that she had ever been in her whole life. 

After managing to calm both herself and Squall to a point where they were coherent, she forced them to scrambled out of the turret, across the storming walkway and down the spiraling stairs. They were mere steps back to the study which held the secret passage. Now, Christina wished for nothing more than to leave the spooky old castle where she could deal with her friend's problems in a logical manner. She only hoped that he hadn't already lost his mind. After hearing his broken babble about dreams and dead princesses and ghosts as she hauled him down the steps, she was beginning to worry that he was already past the point of rescue. 

Heaving a sigh of exasperation, she pushed open the slightly ajar secret door and prepared to toss Squall out ahead of her, muttering under her breath. She stopped in mid-stride when she heard a thundering, "What the hell?" from the other side of the door. 

"Irvine!" she cried out, thanking god she was no longer alone. She threw open the door, dragging her dazed friend behind her. She let go of the confused and recently scarred man and raced into the astonished embrace of the surprised cowboy. 

Although confused, Irvine returned her embrace, glancing over her bowed head to Squall. The normally composed man was visibly shaken, his eyes vacant as he sank down to Steffie's favorite purple chaise-lounge, clenching and unclenching his fists alternatively. "What are you doing here?" his fiancee finally asked as she pulled away. 

"I came to get y'all," he answered, his dark eyes scanning her face for some explanation of their nervous behavior. He motioned to the movable wall. "What's _that_ all about?" 

"It's a secret passage," Christina told him impatiently as if it were the most trivial topic. "Squall found it earlier...Let's just get out of here, okay?" 

Irvine shook his head, which was devoid of its usual hat. "No can do, darlin'. The bridge is flooded over." 

"What?" Christina gasped, wondering why her luck had suddenly turned so bad. 

Irvine nodded tightly. "It washed out right after I drove over it. We're stuck here for the night, I'm afraid." He shifted his eyes from his blonde fiancee to her silent friend, noticing his unreadable expression. "Is that going to be a problem?" 

Christina grabbed tightly to her hand, her blue eyes ringed with tears, wet tendrils of hair plastered to her skin. "I hope not." 

Another streak of lightning, another roar of thunder and the heavy sound of silence filled the room. 

***** 

  
  


"See? I did good," Irvine bragged as he lounged on the huge soft bed. "I not only got 'em dry, I brought 'em." 

Christina rolled her eyes, but was glad to have a pair of clean, dry pajamas to wear that night. The couple was situated into one of the many aired guest-rooms on the castle's second floor, Squall's room located three doors down. "That's because you had to take them to the laundry mat after they were soaked," she said tartly. "That's why they were in the car." 

"Okay, okay," he admitted, leaning up to admire his fiancee as she stood in the front of the hanging mirror and brushed out her damp blond hair. "But it all worked out in the end, right?" 

Christina's motion slowed to a stop as she wondered if everything _was_ going work out in the end. She didn't know exactly what was wrong with her old friend, but he was teetering on the edge, she knew that much. The look in his eyes when he reached out to touch her, his wet fingers on her face as if to assure himself that she wasn't going to disappear into the mist. He'd never so much as told her how he was feeling before, aside from polite conversation, but at that moment, he'd bared his soul, expressing all his fear and pain. She only hoped that it wasn't too little, too late. 

Irvine came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "It'll be okay, Christy," he told her softly, burying his face into her hair. "I promise. Whatever is wrong with Squall, he'll get through it." 

Christina sighed, forcing herself to relax. "I hope so. I've never seen him like this before. I just can't help but worry." 

"You worry too much, Miz Trepe," Irvine admonished. 

She turned in his arms, her eyes dark with uncertainty. "This time, I think I may have worried too little." 

***** 

  
  


Meanwhile, in his own elaborately decorated guest chamber, Squall sat on the edge of his velvet-covered bed, his head grasped between his hands as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened. If he'd had any doubt that something was wrong, his newly-acquired scar served as concrete proof. The images had only been in his mind, but there was the battle scar as if he actually taken part in the fight. What did it mean? He stared at himself in the mirror on the wall, his reflection holding no hidden phantoms like the aged mirror in the abandoned throne room. Two serious slate-colored eyes looked back at him from beneath his long light brown bangs, the tender red scar lending his face an air of mystery that it had lacked before. As if it had always been missing that element to make it complete. 

"Damn it," he growled under his breath to himself. "Why did I have to come all the way to France to go insane?" Feeling the need to work off some of his pent-up energy, he began to pace the length of the floor. When that did little to alleviate his agitation, Squall began to search for something to occupy his mind. Short of options, he decided to straighten up his meager belongings scattered around the room. Why not? 

Dressed in his air-dried light gray T-shirt and dark jeans, he grabbed his leather bomber-style jacket, glad that he hadn't been wearing it during his sojourn in the rain. He yanked open the ornate wardrobe door, poised to hang up his unused garment, but was forced to jump back when a large, rather dangerous object spilled from the opened wardrobe. At his feet clattered one of the strangest yet most familiar things he could remember seeing. It was a weapon, with the long light-blue blade of a sword and a revolver-like chamber for bullets--a gun and sword? He hesitantly reached for it, trailing his nimble fingers down the polished blade to the smooth handle. No, a _gunblade_. That's what it was. 

Squall took hold of the weapon and rose to his full height, holding out the weapon in a defensive stance, both hands gripping the hilt of the gunblade. "What a strange..." Squall's musing was cut off as he suddenly and completely _remembered_. 

He remembered everything which had led up to that moment since his arrival in France and knew the complete error of it all. Images poured into his mind like a river no longer held back by a dam, escaping furiously to fill the space ahead. As he struggled to filter through the influx of information, he heard her voice. "Squall...I'm waiting...your promise..." 

"Oh dear Hyne," he muttered. "Rinoa." 

The Lady in Blue. Rione de Coeurtille. Rinoa Heartilly. She was waiting and he had to find her. To save himself. Hastily donning his jacket, Squall grabbed the Lion Heart and raced out of the room and into the shadowed halls of Ultimont's--Ultmecia's castle. He had to find Rinoa. 

He was no longer Squall Loire, the Squall of this strange world where the countries were called France and England. He was again Squall Leonhart, commander of Garden, who would not let this last and cruel trick of Ultimecia seal him away in another world, a world where Rinoa was only a distant ghost of the past. In another place, in another time, she was waiting. 

***** 

  
  


"Did you hear that?" Christina demanded as she sat upright in bed, an irrational fear gnawing at her. Irvine protested this intrusion into his sleep as he sat up. "Hear what?" he grumbled unhappily. 

"Squall...I'm waiting...your promise..." The words were not Christina's, but belonged to an unknown female voice. 

The couple exchanged looks. "That," Christina answered, jumping out of bed. "I'm going to check on Squall." 

"Christina--" 

She held up her hand to stop his protest. "He's my friend, damnit. And he's losing his mind, or else we are. But I promised to help him and I'm going to. I'll be back." She marched out the door only to come skittering back a moment later. "He's gone!" she reported frantically. 

Irvine felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "I'm going with you," he argued with her unspoken declaration. He knew that she was going after him.   


***** 

  
  


The raging storm had dwindled to a cloud-filled sky noticed Squall when he emerged onto the stone catwalk which connected the secret passage with Ultimecia's throne room. The last time Squall Leonhart had walked that path, he'd been accompanied by two of his fellow SeeDs, Quistis and Zell, and they'd been preparing to battle the evil sorceress of the future. They'd won...hadn't they? 

Squall, oblivious that his newly-acquired scar had faded to old, squared his shoulders and retraced his former steps. He'd noticed that this strange world was partly his own: the castle was on the model of Ultimecia's, details frighteningly similar. Even the unnamed painting was the same. Vividarium Intervigilium Viator was what he learned the name to be. All the paintings in the study had been the same, except for the one of Rione...Rinoa. That hadn't existed in his world. Nor had she been a long-dead ghost, condemned to haunt the castle halls. And he could only hope that she would not be a ghost in his world. What if this was some kind of mirror-reality? 

The door opened easily for him on this visit, almost bursting from the hinges from his force. Empty and stilled, only the dark shadows danced against the fading painted walls. His cold eyes stared hard at empty throne where once the evil sorceress had reigned over them in the compressed realm of past, present and future. That was when he noticed the mirror. 

***** 

  
  


"Squall!" 

Christina and Irvine rushed into abandoned tower with a gust of frigid wind. Christina's oversized pajama pants fluttered madly as she leaned against the door gasping for breath after her frenzied dash to the tower. Irvine was a step behind her, his long chestnut hair streaming down his back and shoulders, his dark eyes full of fear of what they'd find. Squall did not turn away from the mirror, his eyes glued to its surface in unbelieving fascination. His blue-bladed weapon clattered to the floor from his slack fingers as Christina tentatively moved toward him. "Squall?" 

Christina sucked in a breath at the expression of her friend's handsome face. He'd always been good-looking, but his face had always lacked the spark of life, of vitality which it held at that moment. It stoic gaze to the mirror and nearly fainted from shock. What she had expected was to see his radiant sorrowful expression looking back from beside her own pale, doe-eyed visage framed by long wild hair. Instead of that, she found herself looking into a sweeping flower field, pale green leaves and stems contrasting with the pink, white and yellow blossoms dotting the field like drops of paint from an artist's brush. On the gentle breeze pale pink petals swirled on the breeze, sweeping around like dancing fairies against the background of the gold late afternoon. There, in the far distance, was a lone figure, her long black hair fluttering as was her pale-blue duster. "Oh. My. God." 

"Christy? Darlin'?" Irvine's dark eyes were soon riveted on the same impossible image, the mirror no longer a reflective pane, but an invisible looking-glass, a window into another world. 

"Rinoa..."Squall whispered, his voice full of wonder and longing. He moved closer to mirror while Christina and Irvine huddled together, Irvine mumbling a prayer to the God Almighty. Squall reached out to the mirror, expecting his hands to connect with cool smooth glass. Instead, his fingers passed through as if it were a thin barrier of light and morning dew. He yanked in his hand back out in surprise while Christina bravely reached out to the mirror, her hand stopped by solid glass. 

Squall turned to her, smiling wanly. "I'm not losing my mind," he told her gravely. 

"I think I am," she said as she choked back tears. 

"She's waiting for me," he explained quietly. "I don't belong here. I never did." 

"Please, Squall--don't leave," she begged. "You're my...friend." 

Squall blinked, foreign tears clinging to his long lashes. He gazed at the lithe blond, her long hair loose and blue eyes solemn. "Quistis," he said under his breath. He recognized her for who she was, his former instructor and childhood friend who'd tried so unsuccessfully to shatter the walls around his heart. She'd laugh to know that this counter-part of hers had succeeded to bring him to tears with her quiet plea. "You _are_ my friend, Quisty. I have to." 

"Why," she inquired imploringly. 

Impulsively, he clasped her hand as he did earlier. "I couldn't imagine not seeing her tomorrow or the next day, or next year or...well, you get the picture," he mimicked her words for earlier. 

"Indeed I do." 

He glanced to the man standing protectively at her side, knowing that he also waited in his world. "Irvine." 

"Later, Squall." 

Squall Leonhart, after saying his good-bye to Squall Loire's friends, collected his gunblade and boldly pushed through the thin barrier, into the flower field, one word on his lips, "Rinoa." 

"No!" Christina tried once more to stop him and she lunged for his retreating form as it crossed the filmy veil between the realms. As her grasping hands made contact with the mirror's surface, the room exploded with light as Squall was finally on the other side. A jolt of lightning shot through Christina's arm, sending her reeling to the floor. When the light died down, she and Irvine were both sprawled on the stone floor, heads spinning. 

Christina quickly looked up at the mirror. 

All she saw was the ordinary reflection of herself and Irvine, cloudy from age and neglect. Then, the mirror shattered, sending millions of shards slicing into the air. Squall was gone. 

***** 

  
  


"Rinoa!" Squall Leonhart raced across the flower field, the warm golden light almost blinding as he sprinted through the high blooms. "Rinoa!" 

He slowed when he saw her just a few strides away, her graceful back to him as she waited, her dark hair gently falling around her as her duster fluttered on the breeze. He paused to catch his breath, taking great heaving gulps of air to cool his flaming lungs. He'd made it back to his own time, following her spirit's calling from another dimension, despite the time paradoxes created by Ultimecia. They had won. 

"Rinoa!" he called out again, but she didn't answer. "Rinoa!" 

Suddenly, Squall realized that his time with Christina in the other world had not been the end of his trials in Ultimecia's compressed creation, but the beginning. Everything around him swirled and rushed away and Squall Leonhart lost sight of his prize, Rinoa. She'd been lost back into the depths of Time Compression, swirling him into another place, another time. 

His search would continue until she was with him again, over mountains and desert and sea. After all, he'd found her once. 

And she would save him. 

***** 

  
  


"This has to be a dream," Christina was repeating over and over as she stalked the length of study in Ultimont's castle, near the tiny French village of Coeurtille. "A terrible, horrible, horrific dream!" 

"It was real, Christy!" Irvine argued. "I was there and I saw it, too! I can't explain and I don't even want to try, but it happened! He stepped through a god-damned mirror into fucking wonderland." Irvine's nerves caused his mouth to spill obscenities in abandon. 

"This can't have happened!" Christina wailed, biting her neatly-manicured wails. "This is insane. Insane." 

"Well, I don't know about that," Irvine remarked dryly. "But the exploding mirror cut me." He held up his hand as proof. He reached for the towel which Christina had causally draped over the Lady in Blue painting she'd been restoring. 

"Maybe Steffie slipped me some kind of hallucinogenic drug earlier," Christina tried to rationalize out loud. "People don't simply follow ghostly apparitions through mirrors." 

Irvine's eyes were was wide as saucers. "Um, Chris?" 

"Yes?" 

He was staring at the Lady in Blue painting. "Come here and look at this." 

"I don't see what this has to do with anything," she complained while she walked over to him. "What does this painting have to do with...Squall...oh...dear." 

Now, couple stood open-mouthed gaping at the painting. Only a few hours earlier, Christina had expertly restored it to reveal the lovely lost soul, Rione de Coeurtille. _He_ had not been in the painting. 

Now, the young woman's half-smile was radiant, all joy possible reflected in her dark eyes. Christina could only blame the change on the fact that now the painting included a tall man dressed in black who stood at her side, his handsome scarred face and light eyes half-hidden beneath a fringe of light brown hair. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder and, although his face was composed, the happiness there was undeniable. 

Irvine had long since moved away while Christina stared. He shoved a ledger into her hands. "Lookee, here," he ordered softly. 

She looked down at her catalogue ledger where she had recorded each artifact painstakingly in her neat script. She skimmed until she found #143 A, the lot number originally assigned to "Lady in Blue." Now, the title, in her own writing, read "Rione de Coeurtille et son chevalier, Rafale de la coeur du Lion." She pale visibly. 

"What does that mean?" Irvine wanted to know, his French limited to colorful phrases such as "the palace of hell." 

"Rione de Coeurtille," she translated softly, "and her knight..." She faltered on the word "rafale," her heart quickening when she caught its meaning. "Rafale de la coeur du lion...Squall of the heart of the lion. Her knight, Squall the lion-hearted." 

The ledger hit the carpeted floor with a soft thud, tears blurring Christina's view of the happy painted couple. She felt Irvine hold her tight, murmuring soft words of comfort. She held onto him, grateful for his support. "I guess he was right," she smiled softly through the tears. "She was waiting for him." 

***** 

  
  


"I'll be right back!" the couple heard Selphie Tilmitt holler out to the assembled crowd in Balamb Garden's ballroom. "I gotta grab my camera!" 

"Hyne save us all," Rinoa Heartilly, sorceress and leader of the Timber Owls smiled serenely at her companion. Squall Leonhart rewarded her with a faint smile, his smoky eyes alight with humor. "We'll have to spend the whole evening running from her and that thing." 

"Maybe we can just stay out here," Squall offered. "She won't think to look to check." 

Rinoa laughed. "I'm sure." Inhaling deeply, Rinoa gazed over the balcony edge of the floating Garden, admiring the effect of the Garden's glowing lights on the blue sea, and the misted edge where the velvet sky met the dark sea. It was a breathtaking sight. She glanced over at Squall to see him lost in thought, deeply pensive. She giggled. It was all over; they'd defeated Ultimecia and made their way safely out of Time Compression and yet he still furrowed his brow in contemplation. "A gil for your thoughts?" she offered. 

He looked down at his hands. "I was just thinking...about Time Compression. The things that happened there." 

"Oh." Rinoa could sense there he was holding something back. "Do you want to...talk about it?" 

"I saw you in the flower field and I called out to you," he revealed softly, still looking ahead. "but you didn't answer me, couldn't hear me. Before that though, I was in a strange world, a world where I forgot that you even existed." 

Her black eyes watched him imploringly and she laid a light hand on him for comfort. He nodded gratefully before he continued. "Everyone else was there. I saw Quistis, Irvine, Selphie and even Zell. But you weren't there...and I was miserable." His voice trailed off with his last comment. "I was completely miserable even when I didn't know why." He looked at her, his gaze softening. "But I still heard you." Without realizing it, the whole story of the other place spilled from his lips, and he told her about Christina, the castle and Rione de Couertille. "And when I realized the truth, I..." 

"You came back for me," Rinoa finished softly, smiling. "Thank you." 

"I had to find you," Squall told her. "Because you were the only one who could save me. The only one that mattered." She inched closer, her soft smile widening at his heartfelt words. "Oh, Squall. I--" 

"Irvine Kinneas!" Their moment was ruined by Quistis' loud admonishment. The couple glanced into the ballroom to see the usually calm instructor forcibly pushing the amorous cowboy away from her while Selphie caught the whole thing on tape. 

"What's her problem?" Irvine frowned into the camera as Quistis glided away from him. 

Selphie giggled. "She obviously doesn't appreciate your charm." 

Rinoa giggled in turn. "Quistis and Irvine, huh? Now, that had to be the strangest part of the whole place." 

"Definitely." 

Rinoa's smile turned mischievous. "Maybe we should tell them and see what happens." 

Squall shook his head. "I'd rather not think about any of that right now--or any of them for that matter." His smile was warm and tender. 

Rinoa found herself getting goose-bumps. "Then what would you like to think about?" Just then a shooting star streaked across the sky. "How about that?" she asked, pointing up at the night sky, smiling. 

"Hey!" they heard Selphie squeal in the background while they were involved in more pleasurable things. "My camera just died!" 

~Fin~ 

Author's Notes: This is based loosely on an original fiction of mine and I wanted the same supernatural love-story motif, but I didn't want to have to kill off any characters--so I played around with Time Compression ^_^ I think all the switching around of names and people in the 'other' world is pretty clear and all my French is translated within the text. It's as accurate as I can get it with my knowledge of the language. If there are any native speakers would like to correct it for me, I'm open to all help. Oh, 'coeur' is the word for heart in French, so that's how "Heartilly" became "Coeurtille." 

Why did I change the girls' names and not the guys? I dunno. It was easier and I felt the guys' names were so weird, while Quistis and Selphie just strike me as odd, so I gave 'em similar-sounding names. Selphie to Steffie and Quisty to Christy to Christina. Just in case you wanted my logic. And the Christina/Irvine pair-up? That's due to my complete belief that Irvine is the easiest character to translated into the real world, more so than Zell or anybody else. I know it's kinda of fuzzy in some parts, but it's supposed to be; Squall's a very confused little boy. Now, with _all_ that said, I hoped you enjoyed my little story and I do hope that you'll review it. Please, pretty please?   
Regann   
regannfoxx@yahoo.com   
http://i.am/regann   



End file.
